Every thing

It used to be about Other Things
It was always about 'other things'.

The more you think about It,
the more It thinks about more.

Stare long enough at any thing
and you lose all light discrimination
inside those black-hole pupils.

It has been said things couldn't be worse-
something about change, smaller
but felt the same with more things
and blame.

It was cluttered with chatter,
static, white noise, white holes
and light bounces off rubber words.

If you blink now,
it will never change.
Time wiggles out of every thing.


Painting by Thomas Wijck (c. 17th century), Alchemist in his study with a woman making lace, uploaded by Chemical Heritage Foundation [Public domain or CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.

Minced words atop static

Static carried on air
clings to its own non-being
i'm-potential
like white
white of poltergeists
or the white whir
i'm-between
towers

Interference splits
with pixel holders
i'm place
Spliced volumes
inaudible water
falls

These were always empty buckets

As a book is a chalice fore-
thought
Media makes masks
with hollow eyes
re
perceptive
think for me-tell me-show me
Empty
w/out your feedback
reciprocating back feed
in mixed media-the medium
is largely the message
fully charged.




Image By Darjac (Scanned by Darjac) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

White noise words

I have sat and watched the ocean

for hours

and years

and while I don't quite know why

I still feel

justified

compelled

in waiting for a reply

for words I already know

will never wash ashore

for me to find

like unbroken sand dollars

glistening gold in the sand

reminds that chasing

never gets

wise by watching-

taking it all in by

each pebble upturned, every

gull and erne, the rhythmic

flap beat and crash, cymbalist

water splashing up word

dancing in wavy mockery

a song whose lyrics

are all pitch and roll

foaming at the lip

while I

still

sit quietly listening

to hear it again

and a-gain

in a grain

in all ways
voluminous, numerous

white words

that tidally summit
and blend back in
singing to sea 

and here, 

the choir. 

Composed 1/23/16.

Image by RicardoUrbinaM assumed (based on copyright claims). [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons (edited).